Relapses
by KilmenyWalker
Summary: They've fallen together and fallen apart. But they're always there ready and waiting - it's like clockwork now with them - waiting for another relapse.


And then I'm crying again. And for goodness' sake, I don't even know why!

Well, that's not true. I suppose I do know why. But I won't say it. I won't even think it. But I can't help the image from appearing in my mind. That face, his face, smirking like it always is.

His deep eyes, and his hair - NO! I won't get into this again, describing him to myself, I know what he looks like, hell I love the man. Oh, I can say that but I can't say his name? I won't pretend to understand the logic behind that. And I'll only say such things to myself; to everyone else I can and do understand that logic. Thankfully no one is asking that of me in particular. But still, what began all this?

Oh, yes! I was crying. Thank goodness I was in my room when the waterworks began. I thought all day at work they would, during lunch with Harry they threatened to spill, but I made it just inside my flat, practically flying by Gin, and they fell. Of course today she would be here - have a flatmate who must live around the Harpies' match schedule and you see her face on the paper more than you will in the hallways. And on an evening I'd beg to be alone, she's knocking on the door, harping on that I must tell her what is the matter. Well, the proper team chose her, I suppose.

My tears aren't stinted, but I smile for a moment at my small joke. I was never the joker, as everyone knows, but once in a blue moon I will get a good one in there, even if only to myself .

Ginny heard me sniffling, and I guess my door didn't slam all too quietly least ways, so I shouldn't be surprised that she's banging on the door. I'd silence the damn thing, but the vanity of my own human weaknesses likes knowing there's someone else there, even if I would like to be alone, if that were an option. Since she knows I'm in here with my now trademark teary eyes and swollen nose, there'll be no getting rid of her. Not until we talk at least. But anything I say right now would be pure choking anyways, no matter how much I want to get the words out.

The whining teenage "Leave me alone" does manage to escape. Well, some girls rebelled at thirteen saying this to their parents. I remember doing something different that year - and several years before and after. Sue me if the normalcy is a few years late.

"Hermione, you're going to have to tell me what is the matter. You know you will! Just get on with it."

"No, Gin," I choke out. "I won't talk right now. Maybe later."

"Is it work?" she asked, knowing the answer.

"No," I whine.

"Is it Paul?"

Paul? Humph, I wish it was something so simple as Paul upsetting me. At some point I know I ought to feel bad for those poor blokes I end up dating - I never manage to like them half as much as they claim to like me. I'm not being haughty, and besides, by the end of the relationship it's terribly clear they don't like me anymore at that point. And Paul I'd only been seeing for a couple of weeks now, how in the world could he be the problem tonight?

"No."

"Is it Ron?" Ginny asks dejectedly.

And there it is. Now she's said it and my tears are fresh. For of course it's Ron! Isn't it always Ron?

"Mm-hmm," I manage, but I'm not sure if she can hear me through the door.

"Did he say something wrong?" she coaxes.

"It was that damned bimbo he's seeing!" I shout, my voice no longer hindered. "What right has she to bounce into the Ministry, in muggle garb as short as they make it, and grabbing onto him in the middle of a meeting? She walked in unannounced, and no one said a word because she flipped her hair so delicately all the boys were practically stupefied, and I was trying to keep breakfast down."

"All the boys stupefied, eh?" Ginny asks me, and I can all but hear that her eyebrow has raised.

"Harry wasn't in," I almost laugh. "Arthur flooed him a moment before all this happened."

"And did Ron look happy to see her?" She seems satisfied now that her love life is safely intact. Fully ready to torture me for mine again.

"In more ways than one." I tell her, miserably. I walked up to the door to open it and allow her in, but add a sulky, "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"C'mon," Ginny says as she pushes me back onto my bed. We lie on our backs, my left hand up and clapping with her right. It's calming, but I don't know why. I can't even remember when we started doing this - probably around the time her brother started causing my breakdowns. So, childhood. "A good lunch with Harry?" she asks.

"Very good," I tell her. "Well, the usual. Why?"

"My lunch was less good. I've been calming people down all day." she tells me. "Though there were considerably less tears during the first one."

"Who?"

"Who do you think?" She laughs, but I don't see the joke. "Ron came here practically in a rage, Hermione. Not at you, mind you. At said bimbo." she raised her eyebrow. "Ex-bimbo, if you care to know." I did care to know, but wasn't going to say so.

"Why did he come here?"

"He wasn't calm enough to see you, obviously, and needed someone to yell to. Not at; he wasn't really angry at anything but the world. Oh, and the ex-bimbo. She saw your annoyance; you can't cover it like you pretend to be able to. And she asked Ron to stop hanging so closely around you. 'I know you're the golden trio and everything, but that was in school. It's been five years and people need to grow up' she told him. And just like every time someone tries to say that to one of the three of you, it didn't sit well."

"Of course it won't sit well!" I've become excited again.

"Which is exactly why I've never bothered to tell Harry anything of the sort," she's laughing again. I suppose my excitement is amusing. "But as her name implies, the bimbo just isn't as sharp."

I'm thinking for a moment. Well, I'm not even really thinking, just taking a break from the conversation. That is to say that my mind is, for one of its brief moments, blank. I can't make this happen often. It's such a delight when it can. I'm more than certain that I would hate feeling like this if it were to be my lot constantly, but as my lot is usually thoughts whirling to and fro, the occasional silence feels like a rest. And I'm getting that beautiful rest here, in my bedroom which is undoubtedly one of my favorite places - in spite of those damned tears I shed here on occasion - with one of my very best friends beside me, our rhythmic clap still going. The world can wait. My problems can wait. And it's so seldom that they can, that I'm grateful beyond belief for it.

It has to end soon enough though, doesn't it? "He's bound to be over later, you know." Ginny sighs, bored by my momentary absence.

"Surprised he's not over now." I admit.

"We could go out. What is he going to do if you're not in? Or you could go see Paul." There it was - Paul again. Why do I keep forgetting about him? "To his credit, because he is my brother and I need to find one nice thing to say, if the bimbo was as scantily clad as you say, few men could've denied her request. Give up a bird like that for an ex-girlfriend with an infamous temper?" and this time I laugh with her because I do get this joke.

"I don't want to go out. But I should speak to Paul." I admit, feeling bad enough, but worse for the fact that again I've used a poor boy without even realizing it. "Things were never serious with him."

Ginny has raised her eyebrows, and now I know that blasted question is coming, same bloody question she asks every time. It's like a dance what happens every few months with all of us, and we have rehearsed the steps so well that we all know which comes next. "Not like they were with Ron?" I shake my head. "Hermione, what happened with you two?"

"Gin, you know. I've told you a hundred times, you've asked me a hundred times, I'm sure even Ron and Harry have told you their ends an equal hundred times!" our clapping has stopped; it's not helping anymore. "One would think you'd know the story by now."

"I know the specific half that you chose to tell me every time; Harry claims he knows less than I do, and Ron gets a twisted awful look every time I ask - believe it or not Hermione, you're the only open book of our group, even if you try to keep it bottled."

"I tell you all that you need to know."

"You have never once told me what happened that day. You tell me about the blissful year you had together, the less-than-blissful month that followed, and the misery that came after you fell apart. I should know all of those full and well even without you telling me; I was there for those! I was not there on that day, and I don't know what it was that could have possibly ended with this bloody mess we're all trapped in." she sits up, and I see her brown eyes have gone blazing. I'm thankful for the millionth time that she doesn't have his blue eyes, because she'd have gotten the darn story out of me that much sooner. "Now, I'm not leaving your side until I hear it this time." I try to laugh, "I mean it!" she yells.

"Gin, that's ridiculous, and you already know what is important about that day. It's the day that it ended. That's all." But it's not enough for her. She grabs my hand again, and it's a tight grip.

"Not leaving. I'm stronger than you are, Hermione, so you can bet tomorrow I'm dragging you on my broom with me before you get a chance to set foot in the Ministry."

"You're being ridiculous!" I try to tell her.

"So are you! But I've only just started being ridiculous; you've been ridiculous for four years now, and I'm sick of it. We're all sick of it. Just tell me what happened." her face is hard. "If you can't tell me what, tell me why at least!"

Several minutes, several years - really only three seconds - pass where we're simply glaring at one another. The teenage sulk returns as I groan a shrill "Fine!" and she lets go of my hand with a triumphant smile. She leans in to kiss my cheek then urges me on.

"He wanted to marry me." I say. Shouldn't that be enough? No, it isn't; she's waiting for more. "I mean, he didn't ask me, we were still a few years away from that, but I could feel it. He was getting so attached, talking of living together, made a few offhanded comments about children. I loved the man, I love him still, but I'm not willing to get married yet. And children?" I laugh almost hysterically. "I don't have the hips to birth another seven-child-Weasley-brood."

"You don't want any children?" She asks.

"Two: a boy and a girl." I say matter-of-factly.

And here Ginny laughs more hysterically than I had a moment ago. "Hermione, do you know how much trouble could have been saved if you had told me this ages ago? I'll tell you something, my parents wanted only two: a boy and a girl. When that didn't happen, they went for a third, and got another boy. Then twin boys! Another boy, and finally me. And damn their luck, but due to all those brothers I was raised as much like a boy as if I'd been one." she grabs my hand with a softer hold this time. "You can't plan everything, Hermione. _You_ should know that; how many of your plans from our school days actually worked?"

"Three, I think. Getting Norbert to Charlie, saving Buckbeak, and leading Umbridge to Grawp."

"I call out two of them: you were caught after meeting Charlie - who leaves an invisibility cloak lying about? - and Grawp wasn't even part of a plan, you admit yourself it was improvising." she's laughing. The girl is always laughing! "Buckbeak I'll give you, though it _was_ Dumbledore's plan."

"Your point, Ginny, your point?"

"My point is that you don't throw away the love of your life because you're worried he wants to have more than two children. There's more you're not telling me."

"I wasn't ready to get married."

"Hermione Granger, afraid of commitment." This time at least her laugh is soft "What do you think now?"

"I think if I were to get married, it should be to Ron. But I always thought that! I just didn't want to do it then."

"Hermione, it wasn't as though he was going to ask you the next day. It took him seven years to admit he had feelings for you, and if I recall, it was _you_ who kissed him first! I would have put money down that you would have been together a long, _long_, long, time before you finally up and asked him to get married. Why were you so afraid?"

"We were fighting like cats and dogs that last month," I press.

"What else is new? You've been fighting like cats and dogs since you met; it's practically your foreplay!" I blush, because to an extent its true. "What are you not telling me?"

"I was pregnant, Ginny."

I said it. Years of silence, and now I've said it. My words are hanging thick in the air, and I wish I could grasp them back, but it's no use, they've been said.

"You were pregnant?"

"That last month. And at first we were happy. And then I thought about it, and knew he would ask me to marry him, make myself honest, I knew I'd never continue in the Ministry with a child. I panicked. And then worse than that, just about the time I came around to the idea, and we were going to announce it and be happy, I lost the baby." Fresh tears are falling, but they feel like old tears. Old tears from this old hurt. "And I felt so guilty. It felt like punishment for not wanting the child at first."

"So that day?" She sounds afraid to ask.

"That was the day that Ron asked if we should try again. And I saw his heart breaking when I told him that we shouldn't. He thought our life was moving forward, and all I wanted to do after that setback was rein it in. So I told him he should go find a girl who wanted that life, and I would stand by him at his wedding, deliriously happy for him, if he would let me."

"Friendship was clearly offered?"

"And unclearly accepted." I sighed. "We have no idea where we've stood since that day." and I can't continue because the stress is too much and my tears are too heavy. "We were so young. We couldn't have a child; it was horrible to lose it, and a miserable blessing that we did. And I'm so terribly cruel for thinking such things!" Ginny just lets me sob on her shoulder, and says nothing, reminding me of why she's my best friend. She may laugh unintentionally at times I could deem inappropriate, but she knows when to speak, and when not to. And then I'm crying again. And for goodness' sake, I don't even know why!

ooooooo

I'm pacing in my room. Grimmauld Place hasn't exactly become any friendlier over the years, despite everyone's best attempts, and tonight the walls feel like they're practically grimacing at me.

And they should be! Not because of Karen; she was disposable enough. Damn! Well, I'm still the king of something with that statement, aren't I? Jackass. But then it's true, isn't it?

"Mate?" Harry breaks my thoughts. Thankfully! They're more a mess than usual.

"Yeah," I answer uncommitted.

He comes in; bloody hell, I know it's his house, but shouldn't he knock? It's all the annoyance I can muster, because I don't really care. "Problem? You've worn this path clean through before."

"Still in a rage." I say.

"Yeah, Gin told me about your split." he says. "Didn't like her anyways. You know who I do like?"

Damn, Potter? Could you cut to the chase any faster. "Can't imagine."

"She's only your sun and moon." he says with a smile. This bloke is always happy lately! I could punch him… he'd probably just smile on through it though.

"Eh, I was pissed drunk when I said that, and I'll remind you for the millionth time that I _read_ that phrase; I'm not so whipped that I'll say it on my own accord." I try to defend. There's still plenty of anger, even if I feel ready to give up.

"Want to talk about it? I know we're tough blokes, saved the world time and time again and everything, but we can still talk about it if you want." He offers.

And I'm a wreck. I've given up, all the rage spills out, but it's not even steam anymore. In fact, it's dangerously close to being water. Tears. I can't let that happen! But it wouldn't be the first time Harry saw me cry. Still! He's right: we're tough blokes. "It's been four years!" I shout, trying to get back some of the anger.

"She'll come 'round." he offers.

"You've been saying that for four bloody years!" There's that anger!

"And it took seven for her to come 'round the first time."

"Well it nearly killed me then. Besides, we weren't dating other people then; every time she finds a new bloke I want to strangle him! But she's never the least bit jealous of any of the birds I pick up. No matter how vulgarly I parade them before her, she doesn't care."

"She cares, mate."

"She's never cared."

"She's having a near identical breakdown as we speak."

I stop at that. Have I hurt Hermione again? Damn! I am _always_ doing that! Before I can get too angry, I remember that this time it was intentional. I was trying to make her jealous. Still, how could I treat her like that? "What should I do?"

"I don't suggest the thing you do every time. That hasn't worked in all these years; I don't see it working tonight."

"I need to go see her though!" Now that I know she's crying, and it's my fault, I have to see her. I have to hold her. I have to slide my hand through her hair. I have to make her tears stop. I need to make sure she's still real and whole and there, because sometimes I'm really not so sure.

"Yes, but you don't need to shag her until morning with delightful thoughts of weddings and children on your mind, and then leave her flat tomorrow expecting that everything has changed." Harry's challenged me.

"That's not how it happens. We don't mean to do that -"

"But you do every time!"

"And it's weird that you know that-"

"You'd think two adults would know how to cast a silencing charm!"

"It's not like we mean for that to happen, but it-"

"Sets you back months every single bloody time!"

"Harry, mate, I appreciate the concern," I'm actually seething at this point. Did I really want this anger back? I'm speaking quickly before the wanker can cut me off again "But this time it can't be your business." and I've apparated out of there.

Right on schedule. Every fucking bloody time. She was lying on her bed when I appeared. Her hair was still damp from her shower, and her eyes were still red from the tears she'd shed in there. She didn't have to look up though; she knew it was me.

"Not this time, Ron." she says stonily.

"I just want to talk." I tried to start. Though she doesn't even seem to have enough fight in her just now to stop me, I can't seem to continue. Maybe I'm too bloody accustomed to the fight. "I'm sorry if Karen upset you today. She didn't realize we were all in a meeting."

"You should be apologizing to your supervisor, whom she interrupted." she sighs. "She shouldn't be affecting me."

"But she does, Hermione." I sputters. "Why can't you just admit it. You don't like seeing me with another girl, because you know that we should be together."

"Not in the mood for small talk tonight, are you, Ronald?" she looks like she may laugh, but the chimes never come. "We're going to get right into this time?"

"We're going to actually decide something this time," I challenge. "Like we should have four bloody years ago."

And now at last she sits up. But there is no fire in her eyes. With the one poignant look she is able to offer me, my resolve has broken entirely. I now feel uncomfortable in the room - shouldn't that window be open? Bugger, it's warm in here. Hermione looks like a ghost of her former self. This had never happened before. During our many relapses, I've been constant in my huffy character, but she had alternated. Sometimes she'd be equally huffy, others she'd be tearful and desperate. But this shell? I've never encountered this Hermione before, in all the years I'd known her.

"Your candlelight eyes." I whisper without realizing it. I should really work on that... "They've blown out."

"My what?" she asks, and there's a bit of spark in them. I let out my breath in relief; I was worried they'd been out for good. But one can do amazing things with a spark; full blazes can come forth from them.

"Your candlelight eyes." I say, and I feel a stupid blush creeping up. "I heard it, in a muggle song I think once. And it makes sense for what you have: bright twinkling eyes. I always thought of your eyes like that I suppose."

The change happens so fast that while I was blinking, I actually missed it. She's crying, sobbing, weeping so heavily that her body shakes, and I'm good and afraid she'll fall off her bed. I'm at her side in a moment, and despite her tears she's kissing me. Kissing me with a hint of desperation she hadn't offered in quite some time.

There's no time to think. Hermione doesn't want there to be time; she knows she would change her mind. I can tell that much from her. Instead she's tugging at my shirt, muttering though the mixture of kisses and sobs that she needs me. She needs me now, please won't I have her, just for a moment? And though I had tried to resolve not to, and though she herself said before that we wouldn't, _not this time_, I know we have to.

I move from her lips long enough to tug my shirt off, and she doesn't waste the moment, taking her nightgown off in a swift motion. I note that she's as beautiful as she's always been, but she looks thinner just now. And her face looks tired. But lust covers her features and pushes these worries from my mind. She's only wearing fresh knickers now, and my jeans are tight already. The tension has risen so quickly.

She moves her hand down to grasp at my bulge. "Please, Ron," she whimpers again.

Any fight I may still have had is shattered. Shattered and unfixable. I utter the sound - that glorious sound between a groan an a whimper that when uttered by a man is a sure sign that you've got him. That he is yours. Hermione's tears are less steady at the sound. It's comforting, that she can still get this from me, after all the trouble that's been caused.

My hand slips past her knickers, the other on her exposed chest. Our lips are still tangled. She's soaking, and already so wound up, and feels there's really no time or need for any business beforehand, so she goes to work on my belt, tugging down my denims with my shorts.

I lean her back, pulling the knickers off at last, and hovering above her for a moment. She tries not to look at me, and I even know why. It would be better if she didn't look at me, because she's sure to see pain there. Or worse, she'll see me with my damned expectations. But she can't help it, and we've gone so far already that there really was no turning back. A final "Please?" escapes her, and I thrust, entering her fast and with reckless abandon. Both of our needs and passions and wants are desperate at this point today, and there would be no getting around the tension, around the sexual frustration. Hopefully, with this, there can be healing.

But we aren't worried about such things right now. We're worried about the delicious sensations running to and fro throughout the other. We're calling the other's name, panting, moaning. It's furious, and it's hardly love-making. This is shagging of the most ragged sorts. But then Hermione reaches her peak, and calls my name a final time, reaching up to hold my face and bring it down to hers. My climax follows, and though its bloody absurd for me to, I weep into her hair, repeating her name tenderly, all the anger and recklessness gone.

I pull out of her and rest on her bed, trying to get hold of her to pull her to my side, but she's laying on her back too far from my reach.

ooooooo

Coughing a bit as the burning liquid of the firewhisky traveled down her throat, Hermione leaned back expressing a mixture between a sigh and a laugh. They'd both recovered from the sex, dressed, and sat down on Hermione's floor wondering what to do then. At that point, Hermione fished two bottles of liquor from her desk drawers, and they two took turns knocking back swigs until they were nearly finished with the one that had before been opened.

"This takes me back," Hermione laughed, and for the first time since Ron had entered the room she started to look happier. At least, she started to look more relaxed. Ron felt a slight twinge of resentment when he noted that alcohol could do as much for her, but not their heated shag.

"Me too," he grunts. "I doubt we are talking about the same time though."

"I was just thinking of Grimmauld Place, that first summer."

"The very first summer?"

"No, no, the first summer _after_." she smiled. "The happiest of all summers."

"You were happy then?" he asked, hesitantly. The liquor hadn't quite loosened his tongue enough yet it seemed.

She gave him a blank, near confused glance. "Of course I was. In spite of all the mourning, I was the happiest I've ever been."

"Because we had won?" he coaxed.

"Ron," she began sadly.

"Because you were going to be able to return to school?"

"Don't make me say it." she begged.

"Because your parents had been found? Surprisingly easily."

"Because I finally had you," she gave in.

"We were so happy together."

"I'm not denying it. And I wouldn't take it back."

"Any of it?" he was nearly desperate in tone.

She shook her head. "None of it."

Ron weighed what this meant. She wouldn't take back carrying, even if only a short while, his child. But she also wouldn't take back their painful break. He wasn't sure really how much of this, if any of it, was news to him.

"Do you remember that first night?" he asked. She nodded. Of course she did, that nod said. How could she forget? That coy smile that played on her face told him that she sure remembered _every_ bit of that first night.

The exhaustion, the grief, the delirious relief. The comfort found in each other's arms. In each other's caresses. And when it was all over, she had rolled to the side, away from him to catch her breath, and to try to process what had just happened, though she knew full and well. And how he had curled his arm around her waist to pull her into his embrace. Her head was on his chest - it would forevermore be her favorite pillow - and she was warm and safe in the recess of his hold.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" he had asked her, already half asleep.

"Will you stay with me every night?" she had asked back.

And much deserved rest had been found.

No, how could Hermione ever forget that night?

"True or false?" Ron offered with a raise of his brow as he produced the second bottle of liquor.

"Go," she consented.

"You regret not taking that teaching post," Ron began.

"False. I love the Ministry." she laughed. "Now."

"Your go" Ron gestured.

"You still hate seeing Gin and Harry together."

Here Ron laughed. "False, so long as I don't see it. That's how it always was though. You know that."

"Yeah," she laughed too, "I know that." She thought for a moment, looking anywhere but at him. "We would be together right now; if I weren't so 'bloody stubborn' ?"

"True. Very true." Ron wanted to cry, but laughed instead. "Even you don't understand _why_ you're so bloody stubborn."

"True" was all she said. Then she reached for a drink. Others may play this as a drinking game - she had no doubt just about anything has before been played as a drinking game - but the liquor was only there while they played to dull the pain from the more difficult questions. This had gotten difficult quickly, though. So she began to backpedal.

"Percy is still trying to get George to agree to work at the Ministry."

"True" Ron laughed. "He thinks it would be 'a real fine thing' if all the family worked there. He gets George, Charlie, and Bill are best where they are, but a family member in every department would really be a rose in his lapel."

There was a moment here where they laughed together, and it missed their usual bitterness. It was, in fact, a thoroughly nice moment, and both felt that in that instant, surprised and rather happy.

But then the moment passed. For Ron felt tonight they'd made too much progress to let it slip back now.

"You get bothered when you see me with other girls." he challenged.

"Ron," she begged. "Don't."

"True or false, Hermione." His gaze was hard and unwavering. There were jolts of energy sent to Hermione which she could feel all the way back to her spine.

"True." she said. She thought for a bit that she should explain more, but then though better of it. "You'll never forgive me."

"I'll never forget you if that's what you mean?" Ron asked, puzzled.

"No, I mean forgive. For the past four years. For -" she quaked, "losing the child." Ron was struck down. Since that day, that very last day, neither of them had spoken of the child. Sure, he'd thought about it constantly, millions of times, and he was sure she had done the same, but they hadn't spoke of it. It had always felt like too much. Too much pain.

And it turned out it was. Ron reached for the bottle the same time as she did, but also muttered a slurred "False."

"You're lying to me." she said wide-eyed.

"I'm not lying, Hermione."

"Ron, we don't do that. Not even in the game, but all our lives we've been painfully honest with each other. And now you're lying."

"We've been painfully honest?" Ron spat. "I know we've fought, and I know that it's hard to see, but I'm telling the truth. I've forgiven you a hundred times over for the separation, and never once had to forgive you for the worst part which wasn't your fault. I just want you back, 'Mione. It's you who's lying."

"Me?" Hermione stood up, eyes blaring. Yes! This was the girl he knew, this was the fight he'd been expecting, that he knew he could handle, challenge, possibly even win.

"Yes, you, Hermione!" Ron roars. "What the bloody hell happened? You were the brightest witch of your age, we defeated You-Know-Who, you claim we were as happy as could possibly be, and then the first bump in the road you abandon ship! Granted, it was a larger bump than most couples have to deal with, but I wanted to deal with it with you! It's not like we'd never seen a tragedy before, and in fact we had been a little overdue at that point, wouldn't you say, considering our history? What made you give up? Why did you stop the fight?"

But Hermione couldn't say. She was sitting on her bed again, and she wasn't saying a word. She kept alternating between looking at Ron with trembling lips and looking to the ground with a sunken expression. Then she started to sob again, and though Ron wanted desperately to comfort her, he knew that now he would have to offer tough love or none at all. She had to hear this.

"What happened to you?" he asked again. "You used to be able to face me for days holding your place. Thirty seconds in and you're stopping to cry again?" he felt atrocious for being so severe, but he was also fueled by years of considerate silence. "You used to be made up of strength, Hermione." and then he sighed, disgusted with himself for the whole attack. "What made you so weak?"

But she still couldn't answer him. His words had stopped her tears at least. But now the sunken expression was all that stayed. He sighed, pained and defeated, and also terribly ashamed of himself. "C'mon," he said, moving her to lay down on the bed. They laid on their backs, side by side, his left hand clapping with her right.

They lay like that for hours. Until they both dozed off - the sex, the alcohol, the row all leaving them terribly worn out.

ooooooo

I'm not sure how long we've slept. My brain goes numb around him, I swear. And as that is my only memorable attribute, it really isn't good that that happens. All these years later, and I still cannot account for it.

It's still dark though. And I'm thankful. I don't want to face the morning's light, partly because of this inevitable hangover, and partly because having him here in my bed, close enough that I can smell him and _almost_ feel him, is leaving me both more buzzed and more relaxed than I've known for months.

His snoring stops. But I think he may still be asleep. That is, until I hear a soft "'Mione?" break the silence.

I _won't_ cry again! I won't do it! He's right: I'm weak now. I'm not the girl from the tent, I'm not the girl who outsmarted the devil's snare, I'm not the girl who he fell in love with, and I'm not the girl who I actually liked, and enjoyed being. Maybe I can't go back to being her. But I can go and be a newer version of her. I can be _like_ her. And I'm going to start by keeping my head through this conversation. Because, Merlin's pants, we _are_ having this conversation!

I notice that our hands are still near the other's, though our bodies are a respectable distance apart. Too respectable; I want him closer.

"It was supposed to be easy," I say. "Us being friends."

"It was supposed to be." he agrees.

"Do you remember what you said?"

I see his chest rise in a slight and silent chuckle. "I said that everybody else probably had a hard time staying friends after breaking up because it was so easy for them to come together, it must be hard to fall apart." he's moved his hand closer to mine, and I grab it though I'm trembling. "But with us, it was so much trouble getting together in the first place, that it should've been easy to fall apart."

"It was rather easy, wasn't it?"

"Rather too easy."

"Ron," I've turned my body to face him. "When you said I was the one who's been lying?" he nods. "What do you think I've been lying about?"

He sighs. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

"No, tell me!" I insist. He has to tell me. I have to know.

"I'd give it up in an instant if I knew you didn't love me; if you were keeping me away for a real reason." He isn't looking at me. "Because you don't love me, or you're repulsed by me, or horrified at the thought of ever being with me again. But you aren't. You love me; I know you do! Just as much as I love you. And saying that we cannot be together because of our work or our age is absurd, its cruel, and dammit it's selfish!" With his words I realize how much he has changed too. He's not the boy from the tent either. The one who stuttered at any mention of feelings. The one with - what was it? - the emotional range of a teaspoon? But he's still the boy I fell in love with, he's still Ron, and he held everything together far better than I managed to. And he's right, I do love him. Very much. "I won't allow it. I won't, Hermione, that's why I won't believe your lie about not wanting to be with me."

I'm already turned towards him, but he's still on his back. I lift myself, stiff despite our short rest, and by the light of only the moon find his face. His eyes are bright. What was that he said earlier? Candlelight eyes? He has them.

I kiss him then. This isn't heated like our kisses earlier; I'm still not even sure what was happening to me then. I only know I needed him. And I need him now, but differently. I need Ron, my Ron, and I need to find him, so he can help me find myself.

My tongue snakes into his mouth and it's like it used to be, like it should be. He slips my bottom lip between his teeth and I hear myself groan.

He's flipped us around. Now he's on top of me, and I feel most of his weight, but he won't let me feel all it. After all this time, he's still afraid he'll crush me. As though he could. As though I'd mind. He's moved down to my chin, my ear, my neck, and he's moving so achingly slowly but it's delicious. My hands are under his shirt, feeling his broad and familiar back.

"I've missed you," he groans to my neck.

"I'm sorry," I still want to cry, but for different reasons. Because this is so beautiful, because I really am sorry, because it really is all my fault. But I don't. That is, I don't plan to. But Ginny has a point: my plans never work out. And a few tears do find their way from my eyes, but thankfully this isn't the obnoxious sobbing I went through earlier. These, I can manage.

Ron's hands are on my stomach, my nightgown silky and cool, warming at his touch. It's too much. It's too cumbersome. I move to slip it off, but Ron stops my hands. "We're taking our time." and he moves back to my mouth again. His hands tangle in my hair, and I'm so turned on merely by that. I'm pulling at his softer, ginger locks, and the tiny fringe by his neck, and whispering his name as he delicately groans mine.

His hand traces around my left breast, achingly close to where he ought to be caressing, but just outside. He teases closer, and closer, by the time he cups it, I'm mewling, and my hands are digging into his shoulders. He flicks across my already rather pebbled nipple sharply. "Ron," I groan. "Again?" I beg. And he complies.

His lips are on my collarbone, sucking and nipping. I hear him muttering endearments such as "so soft", "so warm", "like roses". Only at last, with his frustration at something separating him from my chest, does he move to relieve me of my nightgown. He also takes off his shirt and denims, but keeps his shorts on, and I still have my knickers.

He dips his head to my chest, capturing my right nipple and I'm groaning louder than before. My heels dig into my bed, mussing my sheets. He moves back up to my lips, and I welcome him hungrily. My hands trace along his stomach, his back, his shoulders. I'm not sure what shapes they're making, but its surely beautiful, for they have a beautiful canvas. One of his hands is tangled once more in my hair, but the other snakes along my side, reaching my hips and rubbing his thumb along my pelvis.

He slides a finger over the cotton of my knickers. "Ron," I mutter, along with other incoherent sounds. "So good, Ronald." he slides up and down once more, before moving the cotton aside and brushing against my curls. I groan.

And he makes that sound. That loving, ready, strangely weakened sound. I don't know if it's a moan or a whine, but it's lovely. He had made it before, briefly during our 'mad shag', but now, as we truly are making-love it's even more powerful. Yes, despite all my many mistakes, Ron is still mine, still wants to be mine.

He pleasures me for only a moment there before I feel myself reaching a peak already. It's interrupted by his descent. Normally I wouldn't stop him, but tonight I just want Ron, and I can't explain the mechanics of it, but I don't want to be tasting myself during our soft kisses, I only want to be tasting Ron. So I lift him back up by his chin before he dips into me, and pull us both up until we're sitting. I kiss him again, and fell him pull me closer into him. I finally shimmy out of those damn knickers and his shorts are already off. I don't remember them coming off. But despite how I'm trying to catalogue each passing moment, my brain is still hazy from him. Him being so close again, him being so open with me, me finally being open to him.

He leans us back down again, him still on top, and our kisses, groans, and whimpers stop. He's looking at me with a compelling expression, one which I've seen on him before. It's of love, surely. But also of something else. Only now do I realize that it's forgiveness, and that I've been seeing it in his eyes for years. Maybe forever. But I only see it clearly now. It's also of welcoming, of homecoming, of return and arrival. And a world seems to pass as we dare not move.

Without a word, I lift my leg to wrap around his waist, followed by the other. I can feel him, just there by my entrance. He kisses me so tenderly that I'm tearing again. But once more, it's beautiful.

He enters me, and our moans return, our names flooding from the other's mouths like a cross between a prayer and a plea. But our rocking and motions are slow. They're precise. He's cradling me in his arms and I'm holding onto him so firmly, afraid I'll let him go again.

Despite how worked up I already was, my peak almost takes me by surprise. I shudder in his arms, more tears finding their way out, but they are blissfully happy, those tears, as am I. He follows me, and I'm sure I can know no greater joy, forcing my eyes open to watch his face transform under his climax. It's the same sort of look as when he makes the sound. This divine vulnerability, in which I feel honored to be able to see it.

When he falls on me, I can feel all of his weight. I wish that moment could last, but he's aware all too soon that he must be crushing me, and moves to lay on his side.

Now comes the only moment I've been dreading. I've avoided his pull to the nook since the last time that we were together, _really_ together. Because that was Hermione's safe recess, that is my safe recess while I had been with Ron. During our relapses, I couldn't bear to taint that place.

But this time, after I've caught my breath for only a moment, I feel his arm at the arch in my back, and I feel his hand sliding under my waist. And I don't resist him. I turn to him, resting my head on his chest and feel myself warm and safe once more, for the first time in ever such a long time.

I believe I fall asleep that night with a smile on my face.

oooooo

_**A/N:**_

_**Well, I thank you for trudging through that with me! I know it was a long one; chapters however felt out of the question today.**_

_**A final note, the sound mentioned above during both scenes was inspired by the moan uttered by James McAvoy in the 2007 movie **Atonement**, surprisingly enough **not** during the library scene, but rather later in the movie when he and Cee are meeting for tea. After he gets upset, and she puts her hand on his face asking him to 'come back' to her, it slips out, and it is the single sexiest sound I have ever heard! Go review it; you're sure to agree!**_


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